The Beginning of My Chronicle to Failure

I wish words are like fart.

Realizing I have four unfinished entries (automatically) saved in the draft, I was convinced to finish them, one by one. But I didn’t know what I was doing. I couldn’t get my thoughts out of my head. Presently, I am completely lost with words , I am poor with words. Like what Holden, the famous character created by JD Salinger, always says, I lack precision of language. Now that is something I should securely clench. I cannot afford to totally lose it, not now. My future lies with words, with language. And here I am, not putting them into good use. And starting my sentences with and's and but's, again.

I think my head needs a little oiling right now.

Of Skittles and Suicides

Skittles used to be my comfort food. It’s droll how I used to buy Skittles just to sort them by color, and when I’m through with the last bonbon, I start eating them, from those with the most color up to those with the fewest. Then, I would feel so much better.

If only other people can discover how a pack of Skittles can sidetrack their troubles, then maybe there would be less of them to commit suicide. Haha!

(orginal photo)

Lately, suicide is always the subject of my conversations with random people. We share stories about people who shot themselves, who hanged themselves, who poisoned themselves, and all means of ending their, I have no idea how miserable lives.

People would say that at one moment or another, we would really come to that point of thinking of putting an end to our lives.

My pseudo ex-boyfriend had a tendency to be suicidal, frightening, I know. But, my friend’s ex-boyfriend had a tendency to be suicidal and to be a murderer. Now, that was more frightening. And crazy.

I did think about it, years ago, when I was in high school. High school students always rebel against their parents; high school students always have their hearts fractured by high school jerks; high school students create inferiorities that will run through their systems. High school students are insecure, obsessed, and defenseless.

Actually, I didn’t really think of cutting the pounding, because every process and method I had in my head demands pain, and I mean physical pain. I just imagined myself suddenly vanishing from where I was. But then again, I knew they are nothing more than pure thoughts that would stay at the rear of my head and would not be able to come out. Whatever the reason of that idiotic thought, I don’t remember. I’m certain though that it wasn’t something foolish, but sure, shallow. All I could remember is that I had a fight with my dad, and he rarely gets furious toward me, and my mom was so angry too, and it was bad parenting right, because at least a parent should console the child. So imagine how I felt. I felt so bad, and I was so mad. So that was my story and the day after, everything around me was normal, I was in my most normal thinking, and I just laughed and concluded that I did have a tendency to be emo, silly-emo.

Apart from my failed attempt, I have heard a lot of stories. Sadly, some were successful, such an odd word for such context. What were they thinking? Bene and I already discussed this and we came up with an assumption that those people generally weren’t really thinking at all. Because if they were, where would they think they would go? What would they think could possibly happen to them? It is like jumping out of the fence not knowing what’s in store at the other side of it. We assumed that those who were really able to do it had clouded minds. They were full blown mad men. Having a rush of all unpleasant emotions and terrible sceneries in their heads, they had lost them all, they had lost control.

I know my life is so far from wretched if measured up to those who committed suicide. Still, who were they to decide to terminate something that they did not set up in the first place? Who were they to tell that their luggage were too weighty to carry so they would just throw them, and the backs and shoulders that would be carrying them were the backs and shoulders of people they left behind? Who were they to put across the meaning of love when their loss would torment their loved ones all their lives?

So, if you are one of the many people that stab to breathe their last every day, you might as well have second thoughts. Don’t be selfish. You should try to chew some Skittles instead.

Photographs in Black and White

I decided to pamper myself with a manicure/pedicure before I temporarily leave Elbi (just because it’s much cheaper in there although it looked so steep). The manicurist/pedicurist, considering that all of them have a habit of throwing a lot of questions about you for the sake of talking to you although most of the time they don’t really wait for you to answer because they don’t care at all (woooh), asked me where I am from, whether I have siblings, how old they are, what my parents do. With every answer I was to give, she would say that I am a lucky, really, really lucky kid. It’s unanticipated that: one, she would really wait for what I would tell; two, how she thought I am a lucky kid.

People think I am lucky because I am the youngest among us four. I beg to disagree, and I beg to think the other way around. I have never felt fluky over that fact.

So what if I almost always get what I want? So do my siblings. It has nothing to do with me, being the youngest, but all of us have to work to get what we want. So what if I am almost always the hub of attraction? I never wanted every one to be always setting their eyes on me. Never.

People believe that these premises are, well, sound. They are not, for me.

When I was younger, I had always wanted to have a sister I could share a room with, I could do my homeworks with, and I could animatedly yak about my crushes and all with. I had always wanted a brother that would have my suitors scrutinized in high school, and who would just play as my bodyguard. I am more than grateful to have my siblings as my siblings; but you know, it was rather nice to think that we were really close, by age and space.

I don’t really understand why others do not understand that the youngest is the most inopportune because of the foremost reason that he would have the shortest time spent with his parents. Whenever I watch my parents playing with my nephews, my heart both patch up and break. It has been a pleasure watching my dad baby-talking with them, and cleaning up their gag, thinking how stiff he is with the adults. However, over-thinking and repeating this delightful picture in my head smashes my heart. I think and so much wish that my children will enjoy my parents’ lugging as much as my nephews do, because soon after, they will get older.

Now, I rarely see my bothers and sister. They have their own lives to live now. They have their own lives apart from mine. So, whenever I leaf through our family’s photo albums, I can’t help but be cheerless because I see weekends having picnic, driving to the city, or disappearing to the beach, and I just imagine, if I was born years earlier, then I could be there, in those photographs.

Boyfriend. Now That Sounds Better.

It took us precisely a year and three months to move forward, to take a leap. I shall say, it's all worth it, the waiting and waiting a little more.

I'm not going to get into details. There was no candlelight dinner, no banner in helicopter up in the air, no whatsoever grand surprises. Firstly, because it was spontaneous, and I must say that the best things that have happened in my life so far were out of spontaneity. We were just having real serious, honest, and sincere talk – just one of those that we have as often as possible. However, that one was different, or at least it felt different. We remember how we started, how we grew in each other. We were laughing. We were, we were just feeling the best of feelings there are, when suddenly, he paused and popped the question. He did that a couple of times before but I didn't know why I couldn't have the courage to accept it, in spite of so much love I was feeling then. And then, finally, I was ready. I knew it, I said YES, and my tear ducts worked their way. Yes, I cried, a silent one. I cried, out of so much happiness, gratefulness, and overflowing love.

Perhaps, how we treat each other will change. Perhaps, not.
Perhaps, the time we spend together will change. Perhaps, not.
I am not really sure.
However, there is one thing I'm certain about,
that it feels just so right, that we are no longer unlabeled.

You know how coward I was, maybe, I still am. You know I have my doubts; I am no longer crowded with them, but maybe, there are still some. You know my weaknesses, you know them by heart. BUT, I will be the best that you deserve. Your intents, I've known them since then. They are nothing but pure and true. You have helped me to see how special I am, how beautiful I am, in all ways. You have never let me go during those times I did try to run away. When I am with you, I am happy, I am complete, I am loved. Thank you. I love you too.

(I can never ever put them (my feelings, inside, deep within) together and write them in here, or anywhere else.)

He Got Me, Then, He Had Me

I try my hardest to write an entry about him. I just want one entry, just one; but I could not actually do it. I had few attempts though.

From time to time, I sit myself in the most relaxed position, with a pen and a paper, or my handyphone sometimes, or my laptop most of the time, and I begin to think about him. I concentrate. I don’t let other things bug me.

I start typing things about him, things that fascinate me, things that annoy the hell out of me even. Either way, I find it amazing; it amuses me, thinking about him. He’s just too lovely. So what I do is, I try enumerating things about him, things he does, that just get me. I start to list down his matchless ways of twisting me and making me thaw.

After all I have made the long list, I just scrap it off and see a bare plot again, just like what I did before writing this very sentence.

Why? Because no matter how long the list is, it can never be enough. It can never contain every single thing he does, every single thing he is. I don’t want to have a list that lacks a few, or I bet a lot why I just love him too dearly. That for me is inexcusable.

Describing him in one sitting isn’t enough; how much more within this pretty short entry that has on it only few beautiful words?

Whenever I figure out the many ways he does to make me feel so loved, I just fail, like right now. I cannot wholly tell about how lucky I am. As to what I said, the list will never be too long.

Just imagine someone who is patient enough to harass himself around flits/gays (btw, I have not a thing against them. I like them to be honest, more than I do with straight men, or women sometimes.) for an hour only to wait until your nails get done at the parlor. He’s that kind of guy.

Just imagine someone who travels extra miles to visit you when you get terribly sick, without him telling you. He’s that kind of guy.

You see, it’s the little and the grand things he does that constantly get me. In his every move, in his every word, in his every gulp of air, he says how much he loves me, and how much of a fool I am not to love him back.

Pinky Just Turned 18

Whenever I go home for rather a longer break, the first thing I do, is to de-clutter.

My room is relatively small, overfed with a lot of things, small and big, most of them unnecessary actually. I throw them out every time, but they never seem to make the place a little more spacious.

A while ago, I just started to fix things up in my room. The first thing I always set up is my cabinet. Closets eat up almost every space I have but they are never enough to store my clothes and all. Again, I set aside clothes I don’t wear anymore. They are either having the so washed-out look, or they don’t fit perfectly anymore.

I wasn’t finished yet fixing up my closets when suddenly, I saw my really big stuffed toys above the cabinets. They irritated me and I wanted to get rid off them immediately. I looked for big boxes so I could put them all inside. I also put other unnecessary things that are supposed to spice up my room, like those kiddie figurines and all. After I had them all in the balikbayan boxes, I asked my mom to give them to whoever. The cute stuffed toys that were left (and they were really few), were positioned in a small holder now. Those stuffed toys above my bed were also thrown. I replaced them with some of my favorite books and just my lamp. I also replaced my pink hello kitty bed covers with the yellowish, brownish, cool comforters.

Then, I got knocked up. I’m a grown-up now; and at last, I am ready to act like one. I prefer beautiful things now, than cute ones.

I never really acted like a kid. I mean, I was never all giddy and vigorous, you know. I never touched things in houses of people we used to visit. My parents were never called in school because I pulled my classmates’ hair. Things like that, you see. I sit in school with my hands on my lap. I never rolled on floors when they wouldn’t buy me the toy I wanted. I was fit to wear the most-behaved badge. Perhaps, that was because I wasn’t used to deal with kids like me then. I was surrounded by a lot of old people, older people, I mean. I was the youngest in the family and I and my brother has an 8-year age gap. I didn’t really have somebody to play those Barbies with. So I matured earlier than most of them. I disposed my toys at an early age and started reading storybooks and played computer games.

However, I was still a kid then I know. I was carefree. I didn’t care so much about other people. I used to envy other kids who have this and that. I was a kid. I felt I was, not until recently, when I worry so much about what the future holds for me, when I worry too much on how I can make a lot of money soon, when I worry too much on graduating on time.

Now, I really feel I’m never a little girl anymore; and throwing those big, and cuddly animal stuffs is the first step. Plus, I also started digging those pointed, flashy, stilletos, and I say, they comfortably suit me.

Rule No. 1 - No Ranting - VIOLATED

I barely have one week. Three days more, to be exact. Nothing like many times before, it’s not indolence that dashes through my system, but loss of nerve and panic. The unfinished businesses were firecrackerlike string inside my body. Their shrieks and screeches are unstoppable.

Every night, I get miserable with my eyes set on the mountain of those exercise sheets and handouts plunked on my table.

I have three more days to go; yet, it seems like the things I am supposed to do are never ending.

I have three more days to go; yet, I feel that three days is not enough to get them all done. Everyday, I wish that there are at least 25 hours in a day. I just could do so much during that extra hour.

And, since my blog has becoming a downright rantbox, I might as well say that my body is so much a burden already, literally. I’m heavier than ever. I actually do not care about the flab. I just hate that I cannot wear my pants anymore. I still can button them up, but these bonus inches keep on showing up. Last weekend, I dug up my biggie clothes hidden in the hindmost of my closets. I thought I would not wear them anymore, but I have them on me right now.

Dear Pinky,

Just carry on. In no time, you will find yourself under your thick sheet at home - asleep, ugly, and un-bathed, all day long, yet still feeling fresh and fluffy. About your weight problem, well, you probably know that sembreak will just worsen it. Haha! So just try not to splurge in Mango and PRP yet, for the hope of chewing those blubbers first. Anyhow, ukay-ukay finds are just as pretty, and a lot cheaper. Haha!

Morningscape

I thought it was just one of the stupid mistakes I cause every once in a while; but, you said it is an attitude.

mistake and attitude

They are two entirely different things.

Mistakes are not as damaging as an attitude. Attitude can smash a person into pieces; and the other person as well.

How stupid of me to think that it was just a cheap mistake.

mistake and attitude

They are two entirely different things. But why is it so hard to tell?

Maybe, an attitude is made up of just a mistake – a mistake followed by another, then another, then another again – a mistake repeatedly done.

You probably didn’t know it, but it hurt me bigtime. Suddenly, I’m filled with doubts again - doubts, not about you, but on me, plainly. I thought I was doing things the way I’m supposed to, the way I planned, to keep you. Still, I was never better for you. I just thought I was.

I guess I can never be a keeper *cries*.

BitterSweet

So, this is my shoulda-woulda-coulda entry for this semester. Yes, this is already a semestral theme that’s why I’m not shocked anymore. It’s just that, this time, it comes off too early. I used to do this thing after every semester. However, this time, it appears to me that I don’t have to wait a couple of weeks to tell.

Remember that all-essay exam I took that lasted for more than two hours? I aced it. I got a 1.0. I should be cheery, right? Well, I was, for a few minutes. Then, it hit me. It solidly slapped my face.

Rubbing off the stupid exam I had in Visual Design & Techniques, I just figured out that I topped all the other exams this sem. There was a hint of self-satisfaction, but then, after again of a few more minutes, it made a surprise rotation. I felt the other way around, I was displeased. I am still displeased.

Some people would think that I was all those times jokingly saying that I didn’t study as much as necessary. They would tell me to stop hoodwinking, which I am in every respect not guilty of.

Just so they would know, I think that leading an exam I didn’t well prepare for at all is not something to be proud of.

Upon cleaning up my muddled table, I browsed a Seventeen magazine that was seemingly screaming to get noticed. I came across an article featuring Mikaela Fudolig, the 16 year-old valedictorian from UP. I was too distracted to even have a moment to park myself and read her entire story. However, my eyes were glued to a pull-quote I should have long understood. It says, she says rather, “I think I did well in school because my parents focused on my study habits rather than my grades”.

Again, it slapped my face, this time, real harder.

I never mastered the art of studying. I never adopted study habits that I would be really stanch of. I violate every rule in the list of effective ways to study. I am a bad student.

I can not be a bad student if I choose to. I don’t know what’s lacking - time-management, self-control, motivation – yes to all, maybe; but, topping the list, I lack self confidence (now, I see the connection to the previous entry). An unexpected seamless exam followed by another should have made me believe in myself more. I should have stopped charging it to the lucky pen, or to the lucky date. An unbelievable title of a CS for a sem followed by another should not just be enjoyed, but maintained (too bad for me, no title to enjoy anymore).

As always, I would say again, this sem, I could have, I should have, I would have done better. I just know it. Next sem, I want to stop the drama. I have to push myself hard, harder.

I need to purge skepticism out of my system.